Burying The Hatchet
by GoofieDaisy
Summary: It's Father's Day again, and one internally conflicted American will finally work up the courage to do what he should have done centuries ago... (Now a Three-Shot) (No Pairings, only Brotherly love) (Human and Nation names used)
1. A Helpful Friend

"Crap! It's Father's Day again, already?" Alfred exclaimed, rubbing at his sleepy eyes while gazing down at his hamburger themed calendar.

It was a gift, okay, don't judge. Can't a guy just have his own little calendar with pictures of hamburgers on it, each month with its own designated topping? Mmmm, this month was a juicy picture of a double cheeseburger deluxe, with crispy looking bacon and –Okay! He needed to focus!

And why did he have a calendar anyway? He was a busy man! You know, with all those meetings and conferences with his boss or other countries that he had to go sleep through… He was already late to them enough of the time, but without a calendar he probably wouldn't even have remembered to show up to them at all. This one calendar in particular, had actually helped him out a lot… I mean, how could he forget to look at it with all those scrumptious burger pictures all over it?

Okay, not the point… He was way off topic now. The immediate problem at hand, was that it was Father's day tomorrow, and he needed to work up the guts to actually do something about it this year.

Uhhgg. Every year he was faced with the same dilemma. With Britain being the one who raised him and all, it was only natural for him to view him as a sort of father figure. He used to look up to him _so much_ … and maybe he still secretly did, although he would never admit it.

This being said, America always wanted to do something nice for him on this special holiday, to thank him for all that he'd done for him throughout his long life. The only thing was… he didn't want to come off as weird, and just the thought of actually having a sentimental conversation with Arthur and trying to thank him, made Alfred want to be sick. He could practically feel the anxiety eating at his chest already.

Coming back from his thoughts, Alfred sighed, running a hand through his golden locks in defeat. What was he going to do? Every year he would contemplate the same exact thing, with the same good intentions, but he could never muster enough courage to go through with it. He didn't know why… It was just so hard to become close to someone again who he had spent hundreds of years trying to push away… The gap that had formed between them had never completely vanished. Sometimes he might have felt like he was getting close, like that rift was finally starting to fuse back together… But it never lasted. That crack that he had created during the Revolution, it never seemed to fully mend…

Alfred sighed in disappointment. Britain probably thought he hated him by now… Did his other former colonies celebrate this occasion with him? Man, Canada was probably sending Britain entire gift baskets right now, while America just sat there and argued with himself over what to do like the idiot he was.

Arthur was right. It pained Alfred's self-righteous spirit to confess, but he couldn't deny it. He _was_ an idiot. He couldn't put his pride behind him to be the better person.

But then a morbidly comforting thought occurred to him. If Canada did happen to send Britain a gift, Britain probably wouldn't even be able to figure out who it was from, anyways.

Oh, Matthew…

But he guessed that even being invisible had its perks. Then he wouldn't even have had to face problems like this in the first place…

Alfred found his eyes wandering to an old toy solider figure, standing at attention on his wooden shelf. Ever since he'd found it, while rummaging through his storage room in a failed attempt to clean it, he had decided to take it out for display. I mean, it did mean a lot to him, after all.

The simple yet elegant figurine was masterfully painted, although after being around for so many centuries, some of the red was beginning to chip off.

Arthur had made it _just for him_.

Back when he had been such a jovial and warmhearted caretaker. He remembered Britain had been so overjoyed handing it to him, even when he had nearly broken his arm while crafting it. What had happened? How had their relationship come to such a jagged edge?

Sudden guilt and anguish flooded through Alfred's heart, filling it so full of emptiness, it threatened to overflow. What had _he_ ever done for Arthur? What had _he_ ever given to him?

Pain? Loss? Loneliness?

They already had so much water under the bridge, it wasn't even funny. With all of the constant bickering flying between them, and with every new insult thrown, they were only adding more… It seemed that, as long as they were in each other's presence, some form of quarreling was inevitable.

He was finally starting to realize what a horrible person he really had been to his old mentor, who had always done so much for him… But, he knew he couldn't blame everything solely on himself, although he often found himself doing just that.

They both had their faults. They had both done unspeakable things to the other throughout the course of their lengthy histories. After all, it always took the will of two to start a conflict.

Still, America had his regrets…

Alfred immediately tried to counter his diminishing thoughts with a newer, more optimistic one.

 _Maybe this year would be different._

Maybe this year, he could finally repay Arthur for everything he'd done for him. Finally give Arthur what he felt the man so desperately deserved. Maybe, he could finally make up for all of the trouble he had put the older nation through (and still ended up putting him through).

With a newly found confidence, America rose from his seat to get ready for the day. This Father's Day was going to be different, he could feel it. He was going to finally make things right, after so many centuries of cowardice.

* * *

As soon as Alfred arrived at the K-Mart adjacent to his house, he was already starting to greatly regret his decision.

What did Arthur even like, again? Uhhg, why was it that when you finally wanted to go buy someone a present after knowing them for a couple hundred years, you couldn't figure out what they wanted? He thought this would've been so effortless, but now, staring at all the racks of countless clothing items and kitchen appliances, his mind was completely and utterly blank.

Come on now, he was the hero after all, this was nothing he couldn't handle. He could pick up a whole truck with one hand, or design a high tech fighter jet to save the world, but he couldn't figure out something as simple as what to get someone as a present?...

And you might have been wondering why he was shopping at _K-Mart_ of all places… well, let's just say it was the closest store to his house, and he was kind of working with a _very_ undersized budget.

It was definitely not because he was just extremely lazy and cheap. No way…

Okay, it wasn't that he was poor or anything; he might have owed China enough money for him to basically buy his entire country with, but the real problem was just that he'd already spend most of his monthly earnings on some _other_ important stuff… Like this really cool waterslide he had seen a couple of days ago… And this rockin' new stereo system… And a pony…

Hey, you have to remember, Alfred had only just figured out when Father's Day was this morning. If he would have known about it a few days in advance, he _probably_ wouldn't have bought all that stuff…

 _Probably_ …

As he maneuvered through the vicinity, he found it was increasingly difficult to focus on the current mission at hand. One second he would be contemplating whether to buy this fancy new watch for Arthur or not, and then he would look over and see this epic new rack of water guns for sale and go see how many of his citizens he could spray with them.

He ended up scampering around the store with them, playing a game with this little kid he had just met, instead of worrying about his current complication. At least ten minutes had passed before he remembered the real reason why he was there, and he forced himself to stop messing around (which was a great feat for him).

He had to admit though, he was still pretty impressed that within the short amount of time he had been distracted, they were able to accomplish all sorts of _fun_ things. Like filling their water soakers up at the water fountain, making a huge mess in the electronics department, and getting into trouble with the store's security… _Just to name a few_ …

America had always had a horrendous attention span, and he was well aware of it. It had been that way for as long as he could remember, ever since he was a kid. It really didn't prove helpful during his country's vital meetings however. He would be at some important conference, listening to his boss rattle on about the economy or something, and then he'd see a squirrel eating a nut outside the window, and suddenly he had just missed the entire lecture his boss had been giving.

Sometimes he couldn't figure out whether it was a blessing or a curse… But, this time, he was pretty sure it wasn't a blessing…

After being there for over an hour, Alfred was starting to feel drained. No wonder he had never gone through with this plan before. He had never realized how much work it would end up being. And for what? What if Arthur didn't even care? He found himself frowning down at his shoes in desolation.

He was suddenly pulled from his thoughts as he heard the little boy he had been playing with earlier, speak up from below him. Kids always did seem to be drawn to him for some reason. (Gee, I wonder why…)

"What are you even looking for, Mister?" he asked with the slightest tilt of his shaggy head. He couldn't have been more than eight years old.

"Oh, just a present for my… um…"

Alfred paused trying to think of the right word to identify Britain as. I mean, he wasn't really his father… more of a big brother… well, at least he used to be…

When had things gotten so complicated between them? He didn't even know what to call him anymore! Alfred quickly decided on a word choice that would probably make the most sense and continued.

"F-for my father… you know, for Father's day."

The child peered at him curiously before innocently replying, "Well, why don't you get him some daddy things, like tools and hammers? That's what I'm getting my daddy."

The small boy pointed behind him to a cart with a new shiny hammer and drill laying idle in it. A young woman, who must have been his mother, stood over it, leaning down to place in some cans of soup.

"Hmm," Alfred replied thoughtfully, "He's not really into that kind of stuff too much…"

The little kid just blinked, but he seemed determined to help Alfred.

"Then what _does_ he like?"

America stared off into space for a moment lost in thought… What _did_ Arthur like to do? Other than find new ways to criticize him and strangle France, that is…

"Umm… I think he likes to… sew… And do magic… And maybe cook -but he's not very good at that."

The child's face lit up with wonder. "Magic? Your daddy can do magic? Like Harry Potter?" He asked with genuine excitement igniting his eyes.

Okay, maybe he had said a _little_ too much… He had to remind himself that he was talking to merely humans sometimes…

Then again, he was also talking to an eight year old, so…

"I mean…uh… Yeah! He can do magic! Cool huh?"

Alfred needed to relax, the times weren't like the Salem Witch trials anymore…

He hoped.

The last thing he needed was for an angry mob to chase Britain out of his house, with torches and pitchforks for Father's Day…

The boy stared up at him with genuine amazement.

"That's super amazingly awesome!" He squealed. "Do you know magic too? Can you teach me?! Please!" he chirped ecstatically.

"Well, no… _I_ can't..." Alfred stammered quickly, trying to come up with something to tell the young child. He leaned a little closer to the kid and whispered into his ear with a small smile, "It's kind of a secret, all right? So, don't tell anyone. Kay?"

Boy, if this kid had been that psyched about the existence of magic, then who knows how he would of reacted if Alfred had told him about how Britain claimed to be acquainted with mystical creatures, like fairies and unicorns. Personally, America just thought the old man was off his rocker sometimes…

The little boy nodded his head vigorously, his messy blond locks bouncing.

"Okay!" He eagerly agreed, pleased with the fact that out of all people, Alfred was trusting his special secret with only him.

"Anyway," Alfred started, straightening a little, "What do you think I should get him?" He asked again, trying to quickly change the subject before things got too awkward and hard to explain.

The child stared off into the distance, possibly daydreaming about the sorts of things he could accomplish with magic, until he focused his attention back on America once more.

"What did you say your daddy liked again?"

Well, at least Alfred wasn't the only one with a short attention span.

It didn't really help, though, that everyone else suffering from the issue, seemed to be below the age of ten… but oh well.

Alfred sighed to himself.

"Sewing and cooking…" He repeated dryly, "Though, I really should mention-"

" _Sewing?!_ "

The child's sudden exclamation cut Alfred's sentence off short. As he stared back, slightly startled by the unexpected proclamation, the child proceeded to giggle wildly.

"T-That's what mommies are supposed to do!"

Then he continued to erupt with laughter for Britain's apparently strange past time.

America found himself beginning to grin widely as well. Anyone making fun of Arthur was right up his alley, and the child's giggles were just so contagious.

"Well, I suppose that does sound a little… _feminine,_ now that I think about it." He admitted with amusement, allowing a small chuckle to slip past his lips.

The boy swiped at his eyes, as he tried to pull himself together. But, before he could continue his conversation with the nation, he glanced behind him at the sound of his mother's voice, calling him. He looked back to see her moving on to the next isle, summoning for him to follow.

The boy frowned and put his hands behind his back in submission.

"Sorry, I gotta go, Mister." he said sheepishly, "Nice seeing you though, and good luck with your daddy!" He finished cheerfully, turning and scurrying around the corner to catch up with his mother, leaving America behind.

Well, that was a lot of help...

A little while later, after playing around with a rubber alligator he had found on the floor for a few minutes, Alfred decided to just give up and go home. It was never like him to accept defeat, but he wasn't making any progress, and he was starting to get a headache. Man, shopping for people was hard work…

Maybe he should just get Arthur a gift card instead… Nah, that'd be kind of lame… and would he even be able to use it back in England?

Uhhggg. At this point, Alfred was considering just finding something random from his house he could live without, and re-gifting it to Arthur. Yep, his toaster would do pretty nicely. I mean, he never really made toast anymore, and he's sure Britain would enjoy using it to burn even more of his food with… So yeah! Not a bad idea Alfie boy, not a bad idea at-!

"Wait!"

As he strolled through the parking lot to his truck, twirling his keys on a finger, his thoughts were once again interrupted by a familiar young voice, calling out to him.

"Hey! Hey, Mister! Wait!" It hollered.

America spun around on the cement, to find his tiny new friend from before, rushing up to him from the store's exit. Alfred peered down at him in confusion, as the child panted, extending an arm to the nation.

In its grasp, was a grocery bag with a receipt hanging out of it, and a rectangular looking object hung in its hold.

"Here!" The boy huffed, "Take it! I saw you walk out of the store without anything, so I thought I should get you this for your daddy! _Everyone_ deserves to get something for Father's day!"

Alfred curiously lifted the bag, lowering his brows in guilt for thinking that the child had went out of his way to spend his own money on a complete stranger like him.

"You didn't have to-", he started, but lost all words when he saw what was inside.

A devious smirk hindered his lips.

Oh, this kid was _good_ …

* * *

 **Author's Notes: **

**The part where America is goofing off in the store was inspired by what actually happened to my dad and I when we went Mother's Day shopping for my mom… XD**

 **The next chapter will be more feelsy, I promise. ;) I just added this part in to lighten it up a little with a good old dose of innocent humor! (Or at least attempted…) This whole story was originally formed by two different ideas I had, but I decided it would be better to just combine them into one.**

 **This is one of my first fan fictions, so I'm really sorry if it isn't that great. D:"**

 **This is only the beginning of my personal mission to bring more brotherly Britain and America fan fics to the good people of the inter-webs! :3 (Cuz seriously… there needs to be more…)**

 **The next part should be up by Father's Day, if not sooner. : )**

 **I hope you enjoyed it, and if so, I would be very grateful for you to tell me about it in a review! :3 If you have any helpful criticism, I'd like that too, as that's what helps you to develop into a better writer. : )** **Thank you for taking the time to read this!**

 **~GoofieDaisy -^_^-**


	2. A Word of Advice

America had lost all confidence in himself as soon as he had set foot in London.

It was the next day now, Father's Day, and Alfred was exhausted. He wasn't sure if it was because of the pressure of his current predicament, or because of the endless flight that had kept him up most of the night, to get here.

Actually, it wasn't the flight that had kept him up… It had been relatively calm and uneventful. It was his own mind depriving him of this crucial rest.

Ever since making the decision to pay Arthur a visit, his mind had been going on hyper drive, nonstop. Not only was he a nervous wreck, but he was trying to make _everything_ perfect. America had caused Britain a whole lot of crap over the years, and if he was ever going to repay him, it was going to have to _really_ be something special, to make up for it all.

He had just finished walking the length of the Westminster Bridge, in a dreamlike state, taking in the exotic scenery.

The Thames had been absolutely breathtaking. He had gripped the railing and let the cool wind blow over his torrid skin, helping to calm him. For such an urbanized area, the waters still seemed to reflect the city's old age and rich history, like they hadn't changed one bit. Throughout all that had happened here, nothing was able to drive the water's refreshing vigor away.

He was almost jealous.

He hoped the weight of the world wouldn't be enough to drive his youthful spirit away, either. He suddenly came to the realization that _he_ desired to be a lot like the mighty Thames. Immutable and robust.

Now the weather here… that was something that he was _definitely_ not jealous of. The constant padding of dreary clouds overhead wasn't helping his spirits at all. In fact, they were almost suppressing them further, if that was even possible.

An interesting thought suddenly occurred to Alfred's drowsy mind.

What if the weather of a country was directly connected to its personification's mood, or vice versa? Britain always seemed to be upset or agitated about something…and the gloomy sky above him now only reflected these exact emotions to a tee…

Well, that would explain why the weather here was always so terrible.

Then he went out on a limb, to consider an even more preposterous thought.

If this theory was true, then what did it mean when it rained? Could Britain possibly be… crying? He sure hoped not, because with all the rain this place received, Britain would have had to be crying an _awful lot_ … W-what if it was because of him?!

He felt his heart sink a little further as he tried to brush the depressing thought off. That was stupid… What was he thinking?… That's not how it worked.

Now, America sat hunched over his knees, on a bench lining the edge of a small park, in the heart of London.

As he watched the towering form of a double decker bus turn a corner, he realized that other than the dreadful weather, he had to admit that it was actually pretty nice here.

He had just arrived a few hours ago, and it was around eleven-o-clock now. He had recently fled from his hotel on the other side of the Thames, in search of some fresh air. He had eventually stumbled upon this lively green park, with carefully tended flowers and polished streetlights, and thought, 'What better place to cool down?' With how twisted his insides were becoming, he _needed_ this. He needed to settle down and clear his cluttered thoughts.

The previous high he had been feeling yesterday, after receiving Britain's present from that mysterious young boy, (He still didn't know the name of) had rapidly deteriorated.

Now Alfred was starting to rethink this whole thing. Probably a little too late, after he had just exerted so much time and effort to hurriedly fly across the Atlantic Ocean. Especially without telling his boss a word. He knew there would be repercussions for him to face later, but if he would quit being such a baby and do what he came here to do, then it would all be worthwhile in the end. Plus, it was just too embarrassing to talk to his boss about this kind of personal stuff, anyways. He didn't understand.

America peered down in his lap at the small, rectangular box, he had tried so very hard to wrap decently. Despite this, his desperate attempt at the wrappings and decorations had turned out to be downright hideous… It looked like a five year old had done it… Actually, no. After second thought, a five year old might have been able to do a better job.

The bow was falling off, and it didn't really help that he couldn't find any plain sheets of wrapping paper, so he ended up having to use some leftovers from Christmas. It had all these weird pictures of ice-skating penguins printed all over it… But, who knows, maybe Britain liked ice-skating penguins… Right?

Oh, who was he kidding?! This whole ordeal was just becoming more and more disastrous as it went on! He had only just gotten lucky when that kid had ended up saving his butt with the present yesterday. He wished so badly that he could just go home and forget about everything, but he knew that if he did that, not only would it be a complete waste, but he would probably never be able to forgive himself.

He could never collect the spite to call himself a 'hero' again. What kind of hero backed out at the last minute? If his superhero films had taught him anything, it was that he just needed to be brave, and everything would end up with a happy ending! Although, if he should actually trust and apply that logic to everyday life, he wasn't quite sure…

Naturally, he tried to cover up his inhibitions and derailing thoughts, but there were always that rebellious few he couldn't quite contain.

They just circled in his sub conscience like a flock of pesky crows. 'What if Britain can't stand you?' They questioned, 'What if he wishes he never met you?', 'What if he doesn't even care at all?' And worst of all, 'What if he _hates_ you?'

Before these insinuating notions could sink in, America heard someone forcefully plop down on the bench beside him.

Alfred craned his neck to the left to see a young man with spikey dark hair, sigh agitatedly, and rest his arms over the back of the seat casually. He was probably in his late teens. He brought a hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose as he shook his head in disgust.

Alfred continued to stare out of the corner of his eye. What was this guy's problem? Was it something _he_ did? Alfred's eyebrows abruptly rose in concern, as he contemplated whether he had broken some kind of weird British bench-sitting law, but the Londoner beside him interrupted him before more of America's irrational accusations could form.

"So infuriating." He muttered.

Now the teenager had America's full attention, and he looked over at him once more.

"S-something wrong?" Alfred asked a little timidly.

The young man quickly glanced towards him, folding his arms up to his chest in irritation.

"Parents are so aggravating." He breathed airily. Then he added with a scoff, "Especially my Dad."

Alfred raised an eyebrow, but managed a small side-smirk.

"I hear ya, brother."

The teen curiously eyed Alfred, and heavily sighed once more.

"Always nagging about something. Always trying to get all up in my business." He suddenly jerked forward to lean over his legs in annoyance, his voice steadily rising.

" _Then_ ," he spat, almost as if the very words tasted putrid on his tongue, "He goes and wants me to celebrate some stupid holiday like Father's Day with him! _No way!_ "

Alfred froze, not knowing what to say. He tinkered with the edge of Britain's gift nervously. The Londoner continued.

"It's not fair! He shouldn't be allowed to control me like that, I'm practically an adult! He just takes the fun out of everything!" He said throwing his hands up in the air.

America was taken back in time, to a time not so long ago, when those same exact words had came out of his own mouth. Had echoed through his soul. He knew what it felt like to be suppressed. Treated like a child.

An ignorant child.

Never allowed to grow up or make his own decisions… Probably more than any human would ever know. He remembered the desperate yearn to rebel.

 _To be free._

Like the birds in the sky and the fish in the sea. Not contained in a cage of rules and regulations that made no sense or had any righteous value to him, whatsoever.

But there were two sides to every coin.

He had known Britain had never meant to belittle him. In fact, he knew that the vary things Arthur had done, had been to try and keep him, but they had only managed to drive him further away. It had all just been an unfortunate misunderstanding, and Alfred always wished that there had been some kind of way to advance as a country without severing the bond between them forever. But Arthur wouldn't let him go peacefully. So, really, he had been _forced_ to fight…

Still, Arthur had only wanted what was best for him. He had been a good caretaker the many instances he had actually come to visit him. Alfred had also still been a sweet little colony then, too. It seemed like everything would one day change…

Alfred exhaled, deciding on the right words to say.

"You're right. It isn't fair, is it?" He found a warm smile spreading across his face, as he peered over at the young man.

"I've been through what you're going through. I know how it feels. I've been in your position, but I've learned something. Something invaluable." He thoughtfully licked his dry lips, carefully phrasing his next sentences. Their true meanings sending chills down his spine.

It was rare for America to formulate such deep words.

"I've accomplished what you're trying to accomplish now. And do you want to know something? Yes, I may be free to do as I please, free to act as an independent adult in the world. But once you leave your parent's side, you can never go back. It can never return to the way it used to be. Once you fight them, things won't be the same. You'll be on your own. And you know what? Sometimes the world is a cold place. If you force your way out now, there will be no one there to hold you later on. So please," Alfred wearily looked up at him, deep into his dark hazel eyes, "Make it last as long as possible. Think of all the things your parents have done for you. They _love_ you, I'm sure of it. Don't mess things up so soon. Please. The guilt of hurting them will return one day. And it will _haunt_ you."

The Brit's previous attitude had vanished into thin air. Now he just sat and stared worriedly at Alfred, his brows furrowed. He clearly hadn't been expecting such a dramatic speech from a stranger.

Or maybe it was the tears biting at America's vision that concerned him. None fell, but they lingered there none the less.

"Listen to me," Alfred continued. How he had gotten into such an emotional state, he wasn't quite sure. Maybe it was all of his bottled up feelings finally being spilled out, or the fact that the person sitting next to him was about to make the same mistake he had made, all those years ago.

Independence hadn't been the mistake. No. It had only resulted in creating the great country he was today. So known to the world, so _influential_ , so _powerful_. But the way he had went about it… Some of the things he had said in the past… they had been the mistakes. They had caused the dilemma he faced now. The scars caused by the angry fire of past words.

Words could hurt, yes… But words could also heal.

"On a day like today, let your father know how thankful you are. Don't do something you'll regret."

Alfred flickered his eyelashes, attempting to hide the tears welling behind his glasses.

"It's not worth it to stay mad at them."

The young man's face contorted into a look of sheer guilt. He saw how conflicted America was. He saw the presence of dark memories, rearing their ugly heads, swirling through his sky-blue eyes, as he spoke. He didn't know who this man was, but there was something different about him. And it wasn't the fact that he was a foreigner, although he could tell by his lack of an English accent, that he indeed was.

The teen's rebellious side wanted to reject America's advice. It wanted to be stubborn… But maybe this odd man was right. He seemed like he knew what he was talking about. Although, he didn't look too much older than himself, so how he would have already been able to experience all of what he had just mentioned, made little sense.

Still, the Brit found himself pondering over the others advice more than he would have expected.

After several minutes of awkward silence, as the Brit considered Alfred's hard spoken words, the Londoner's snarky behavior began to shift into a lighter mood.

He gently smiled at America, who now sat perched on the bench in a haze of shock at the words that had just tumbled out of his own mouth.

Alfred didn't even know he possessed the ability to speak so openly and deeply. He didn't know why he had just opened up to some random stranger, and a human at that, but he did.

"Thank you."

The unexpected words from his new companion, snapped America out of his daze.

He looked over at the teenager beside him, his eyes now gleamed with a rare show of appreciation. It softened the features of his usually hard face.

Alfred on the other hand, had something else in mind. This entire conversation had helped him to realize something… _What was he still doing here?!_

"No." America said slowly, suddenly rising from his seat on the bench, as if in a trance. "Thank, _you_."

Then, before the Brit could utter another word, America clutched the package that had been resting in his lap, and took off in a sprint.

The teen watched intently, as the quirky character flew down the paved road, plowing through the stream of endless bodies like a speedboat.

The Londoner only puckered his lips together in confusion, as the unknown man continued to run at full speed down the road, to some undetermined destination, nearly tripping over a trashcan in his rush.

Only one thought entered his mind, as he watched the nation's figure disappear into the crowd, almost being hit by a car as he maneuvered across the street, fumbling around in his mad dash.

"Are all Americans this peculiar?"

* * *

 **Author's Notes:**

 **Hello, good readers! :D**

 **First of all, I would just like to thank you all so much for all the follows and favorites! It makes me really happy to know that someone is actually reading my work! ^-^ Seriously, I'm so grateful to have an audience! Cookies for everyone! :3**

 **Anywho… Oh yeah. Well, this story was originally meant to be a Two-Shot as you might know... Well guess what?! While writing this part, I had gotten to over 1,000 words and realized, "Gee Whiz, I haven't even gotten to the point yet!" So, I decided it would be better to just split it into three parts instead of two, and make it a Three-Shot instead!**

 **I mean, it was either that, or to have one chapter that's like 5,000+ words long, so, yeah… XD Sorry! Hey, at least there's more for you to read now!**

 **I still plan to have the last part out by Father's Day, though. So no worries!**

 **Man, America needs to quit talking to random people he meets without even catching their names… '^.^ lol**

 **I give you my greatest thanks for reading! (P.S. The feels! They are coming! Prepare yourselves! XD)**

 **~GoofieDaisy -^_^-**


	3. That Same Child

Arthur was just finishing tidying up his residence when he shuffled into his kitchen to check up on his pot of tea.

He could hear the faint rumbling of oncoming thunder in the distance. Another typical day in London.

He gripped his spine in discomfort as he bent down, sadly mumbling to himself, "Oh, my back. I really am starting to get older, aren't I?"

Just as he noted that the steaming beverage needed to sit a little while longer before it would be ready for consumption, a noise from outside startled him.

He set the kettle down lightly on the countertop and wandered into his living room, curiously.

 _Who could it possibly be?_ He wondered to himself. He wasn't expecting anyone, and the only people who frequently showed up unannounced were- Oh no. If Scotland was out drunk, egging his house again with his idiotic friends, he was going to blow a fuse! Or worse… What if France was running around London naked again, terrorizing more of his citizens?

As Britain angrily neared his front door, he continued to internally rant to himself. He was going to murder that wine loving-

"Bloody frog, what did I tell you about!-"

As Arthur threw open the door- making the person on the other side jump- he stopped mid-sentence, an astonished look coming over his face.

Arthur paused at the surreal sight in front of him.

 _America?_

What was _he_ doing all the way over here in England? Knowing him, it was probably something stupid. The last time he had visited, he had broken an entire antique set of fine china in less than five minutes of walking through his front door.

Britain's surprised face tightened into a look of agitation instead, at the memory.

"Alfred? What the- What are you doing here?-"

Again, Arthur was silently cut off as he took in Alfred's flushed face. The boy was biting his lip nervously with alarm widening his eyes. He seemed winded. Actually, now that he got a better look at him, America looked like he had just ran a mile; still breathing heavily and looking slightly sticky with sweat.

But even odder than that, it's what Alfred was holding that caught Arthur's attention.

The first thing he noticed, was clutched in the boys hand was an enormous bouquet of flowers. They were impossible to miss.

 _Roses_ , to be exact. The national flower of his country he remembered… and of the United States, apparently. Those Yankee copycats…

They seemed to be carefully assorted in a vivid array of reds, whites, and blues. The colors of both of their flags as well, he noted… The Star Spangled Banner and the Union Jack. He could practically smell the blossoms pleasant odor from inside his house. Subtle but comforting.

The second thing he observed, was a small rectangular package and piece of folded paper held tightly in America's other hand. He could barely tell, but the American's hand appeared to be slightly shaking.

Alfred stood silently, his voice caught in his throat, refusing to cooperate. Sweat beaded on his forehead and his brows threaded together in a look of deep worry and anxiety.

As Britain stood- absolutely speechless- he rapidly searched his mind for answers as to what exactly was going on.

Before he could question the American, he was interrupted.

"Here." The boy said abruptly, thrusting the folded piece of paper at the elder's chest. He said it so quickly and forcibly, it took Britain by surprise. The younger's bulging eyes frantically flickered around Britain's porch, and he looked like he was about to implode at any given moment.

Britain slowly reached out for the paper, still highly confused as to what was going on.

He curiously glanced up at Alfred's distraught face one last time, before looking down at the mysterious letter. He steadily unfolded it, realizing it was some kind of home-made card.

As soon as he read the first lines, it all made sense.

His eyes widened as a wave of realization hit him.

 _Dear Arthur,_

 _Happy Father's Day._

 _I know I don't normally celebrate this occasion with you…_

 _And I know you're not my father._

 _But, no matter what I may have said in the past, you're still my brother, and nothing can change that._

 _Artie, you're the closest thing I have to a father, and there isn't exactly a 'Happy Big Brother's Day', so this is the closest thing I can settle for._

 _I know we tend to fight a lot, but honestly, I don't like hurting you. I never have._

 _I've been such a jerk to you, and I'm so sorry._

 _I miss you, Arthur._

 _I hope you can forgive me someday._

 _I love you, big brother, I always have._

 _\- Alfred F. Jones_

As Arthur tried to read his messy jumble of words, America felt as though he might throw up. His stomach knotted up into hopeless tangles as he intently studied the elder's face, searching for any change of emotion.

Britain couldn't rip his eyes off the page. His insides were tying themselves in knots as well, but for different reason.

He kept rereading the lines over and over again. It kept reoccurring to him that it was in fact _America_ , who had wrote this. Why was that so hard for him to comprehend? Sure, the handwriting was very poor quality, not to mention, scrawled in blue crayon; not nearly as elegant as the beautiful cursive he had taught the lad as a colony (writing styles had changed with the times), but the paper actually seemed to contain honest words from Alfred… _Alfred!_ Words that he never thought- not even in his wildest dreams- that he would be reading. It must have really taken something special to have gotten America to have buried his pride enough to even think of writing something like this.

That bumbling idiot. Was this really how he felt?

Arthur felt his cheeks heat up and his stomach constrict.

Over the blood pounding in his ears, it dawned on him that something about this scene was incredibly familiar.

Then, it hit him like a freight train.

The particular instance where this exact same situation had unfolded, sprung from his memory.

He stood idle- in a dream-like state- as it replayed itself over in his head, like an old tape. A tape layered in a fine coating of dust that had been overlooked for centuries.

* * *

" _Arthur! Arthur!" A small voice called out cheerfully. "Bwitain!"_

 _Before Britain could even step through the wooden doorframe, a little boy no more than eight abruptly shot out of the interior, wrapping his arms around his torso like a happy little monkey._

" _Look! Look what I made you!" He squealed excitedly as he let go of Arthur, holding out a wrinkled paper to his elder. His little arms shook eagerly._

" _What's this, poppet?" Britain asked playfully, studying the sheet._

 _In carefully practiced cursive, his little brother had written him what appeared to be a card for some kind of holiday._

' _Happy Fahter's Day!' It read in wobbly black ink, 'I luv you Artie!'_

 _Although it was horribly misspelled, Arthur found himself smiling fondly at his brother's cute attempt at literature._

" _Father's Day?" He questioned him with a small grin, kneeling down to the lad's height._

" _Yeah!" The child joyfully exclaimed. "I heard some of the colonists talking about it! They give their Pa's gifts and cards and stuff- Oh! I almost forgot! Here!" The boy said holding out a mangled flower from his pocket. Arthur remembered sewing him that very pocket, back when he had crafted all of America's wardrobe. The bloom in his chubby hands was merely a weed, but it was kind of pretty in a way._

 _Britain awkwardly accepted the gift, the younger beaming at him non-stop the entire time. Happiness always seemed to radiate off his little body. For such a small lad, he had an overwhelming amount of strength and energy. It had taken a while at first for Britain to have gotten used to caring for a young colony, but the rewards were invaluable. He was reminded of this now staring at the innocent blue eyes of the child he had raised from an infant._

" _But Alfred," Arthur started unsurely, his smile slightly fading, "You are aware that I'm not your father, correct? Our kind aren't necessarily born to parents like normal humans are."_

 _Alfred blinked up at him with huge sapphires. Then the child looked down, uncomfortably tracing his foot over the wooden boards of the porch. "I know." He said quietly. "You're my big brother."_

 _The child quickly looked back up with a hopeful expression, Nantucket bouncing. "But all of the other children have fathers who look after them and take care of them."_

 _Then he added brightly. "Just like how you take care of me! So I thought you deserve something too! Then you won't feel left out!" The child threw his hands up in the air like it was the best idea he'd ever had. The boy's happiness was contagious, and Arthur felt a smile tugging at his lips once again._

 _The Brit laughed, ruffling the child's wheat blond hair, affectionately. "You're such a silly boy."_

 _This was why Britain so loved his little brother._

 _The child's youthful flame had yet to be doused by the world's corruption. His unadulterated purity and good natured way of thinking had made the Englishmen realize something. He had once been a cruel and ruthless pirate. He hadn't cared about anyone or anything and the haze of greed had clouded his vision to the point where all he had cared about was gaining power. His brothers had left him hurt and broken, and he had turned into a hateful monster. He didn't understand the love a family could offer._

 _But that had all changed the day he had found America._

 _Although he had felt that he had saved the child from the clutches of France, in a way, the child had actually saved him. The child had given his frigid heart a spark of warmth._

 _Even throughout all of the bloodshed and hardships wearing down on him in Europe, he could always count on coming back here, to the thirteen colonies, to see the small lad who gave him faith… Who had taught him how to love again…_

 _This was his only escape. This was the one true place in the world he felt loved._

 _And he would do anything to keep it that way._

* * *

The image of the previous card from his memory merged with the current one in his hands, and Britain felt his vision start to blur.

He clamped down on the inside of his cheeks to keep his lips from trembling, blinking profusely.

After some debate, he steadily settled his gaze on the American standing in front of him and looked him over, finally seeing clearly for the first time in ages.

As his eyes shifted over the boy's same golden blond hair, clear blue eyes, and sun-kissed skin, he felt his heart stop in his chest mid-beat.

It was him.

This was the same child he had raised.

He hadn't gone anywhere.

And it had taken over two hundred years for Arthur to finally realize it.

He hadn't seen it before. It was as if the Little America he had known had become a whole other person. He couldn't accept that the child he held so dear from his memories, had turned into the arrogant brat he knew today. _He just couldn't._ He had always thought that that child was gone forever, overridden by the man standing in front of him now.

But, no. He realized… He was wrong. That child wasn't dead. Alfred hadn't killed him. That child was still in there somewhere, still reaching out to him.

That child had blossomed. He had only grown and advanced further into his destiny that would end up changing the world for the better… Just like he had always wanted.

Tears streamed down Arthur's cheeks and he couldn't hold them back any longer.

He was proud.

Just when Alfred thought Arthur was going to laugh in his face or scold him; just when he though the Brit was going to throw the card back at him and confirm his worst fears… something changed.

America had no time to react as the Englishmen's composure fell and he lunged out at him.

Alfred gasped in surprise, expecting a fist to the face, but instead having the Brit's body collide with his own.

Britain threw his arms around the boy- his little brother- and clung on so tightly that America nearly stumbled backwards. He didn't know that the Brit had processed such strength.

The sudden impact caused the American to drop his flowers, but currently it was of minimal concern.

Arthur –still grasping the card in one hand- wrapped his arms around Alfred's shoulders, planting his head into the others neck. His breaths came in short gasps, and America felt the man shuttering as warm tears moistened the soft skin of his neck.

"You git."

* * *

A few minutes later, when it was beginning to rain, Britain invited America back inside his house for some tea and scones.

Now they lounged in Arthur's sitting room, on opposite sides of a small coffee table, sipping some tea he had just brought in. The bouquet of roses laid peacefully on the table between them. Alfred studied the elder drinking intently, before looking down at his own cup. He had a mug; ever since he had broken Arthur's favorite tea set last year, the Brit had forced him to use it instead because he said it was 'unbreakable'. Alfred was very hesitant with drinking the substance at first, not being a big tea fan ever since dumping crates of the stuff into the Boston Harbor, but decided to put it behind him for Britain's sake.

America still felt uncomfortable about being here. He was almost guilty about causing his former mentor to react the way he had… But, at least that meant that the other still cared. This alone relieved him considerably. Maybe he would be able to fix things after all.

Britain continued to delicately sip from his tea cup, saucer resting in his other palm, but he looked somewhat uneasy as well. Embarrassed almost. His pale cheeks reddened when he noticed the American staring.

"So… Uh." The Englishmen started, trying to break the awkward silence. "What's in the box?" He lightly motioned to America's hand.

Alfred looked down confused, until he remembered the gift still clenched in his grasp. He had nearly forgotten all about it!

"Oh! Right!" He stuttered, holding it higher for him to see. "It's a present." He gently slid the rectangular box across the table to the other man. "For you."

A strange expression came across Arthur's face as he peered down at it, deep in thought. But before he could open it, a loud _Ding!_ sounded from the kitchen.

Arthur's eyes flashed back to reality. "Terribly sorry. One moment, please. Scones are done." And he carefully stood from his chair and walked away to retrieve their meal.

When he reentered the room, he gently set down a plate of scones, each biscuit charred around the edges.

Alfred peered down at the scones as their burnt scent lingered in the air. How was it that Arthur always took them out on time, yet they were still overcooked? Was his timer always set for too long or something? He would never know.

Now he put on a big fake grin and stared at the morsels with fear glinting in his eyes.

Arthur smiled at him expectantly, and Alfred gingerly took one from the tray. He noticed the Brit still watching him and was forced to take a bite. Well, it was more of a nibble, and the piece he had gotten was so hard, he _pretended_ to chew so he wouldn't break a tooth.

Pleased, Britain turned his attention back to the package in front of him. He picked it up, carefully unwrapping the strange Christmas wrapping paper with a raised eye-brow, but he didn't question it. He knew better, this was America after all.

Alfred looked away, trying to figure out what to do with the piece of so-called 'food' in his mouth, since he obviously couldn't swallow it. He tried to focus on the rain drops sliding down the window, and thunderous booms sounding from the dark clouds outside.

As the sounds of wrinkling paper came to an abrupt halt, America braced himself.

"What the?-" The Englishmen gasped, eyes narrowing. "You bloody idiot! What is this supposed to mean!?" His voice suddenly rising, and his calm demeanor from before rapidly dissipating.

"Hey, man! Relax!" America squeaked defensively. "You're lucky! If it wasn't for this random little kid I met at the store, you would be holding a toaster right now!"

Britain glared at him incredulously. "W-What?!" Then his confusion quickly turned back into rage. "How dare you!" He exclaimed.

Suddenly, America was knocked forcefully back in his chair, as his 'gift'- a two-inch thick Cook Book, titled "Basic Cooking for Dummies"- collided with his head. The book bounced off onto the carpeting beneath him as he flinched back in surprise with a grimace.

As Alfred gripped the welt that was sure to form on his forehead, and Arthur went off on a lecture about who knows what, the younger couldn't help the smirk beginning to form on his face.

Seeing Britain so emotional earlier had kind of freaked him out. He was so used to the elder's stoic nature that it made him uncomfortable to see him that exposed. It was like watching your parent cry... Now that Arthur's old cynical self was back in action, he was actually kind of glad. The realization of the situation begun to sink in. Arthur had just hit him in the head with a Cook Book...

The American's laughter cut through the Brit's ranting and he intently stared at the younger, looking conflicted. Arthur then looked down at the cookbook on the floor, then back up to the child he had raised, laughing hysterically, and realized just how ridiculous this really was.

Suddenly, Arthur found a smile starting to hinder his stark features, and a small snort escaped his lips.

Just like that, all seriousness from the room vanished.

Unbelievably, Arthur began to chuckle along with him until their laughs started to harmonize in unison, like music.

The sound of their giggles flooded the home's interior that had been previously filled with nothing but silence for years.

Arthur had never had a Father's day quite like this one, but despite everything, he found that he felt more at peace with his former colony than ever before.

If this was how things would be from now on- the two of them uncontrollably laughing together- he wasn't afraid to admit that he could get used to it.

* * *

 **Author's Notes:**

 **And there you have it people!**

 **Sorry for the wait… Although I did say I'd have it done by Father's Day, which is coming in a couple of weeks, so I guess technically I'm actually early… '^-^**

 **It took me a while to write because I was distracted with some other stories I started, but I'm leaving to go on a trip for a week, so I thought I should get it out now before I go!**

 **Thanks so much to everyone who has stuck with the story! This is my first completed multi-chapter one! I hope you enjoyed, and all of your favorites, follows, and reviews make me so very happy! : )**

 **Happy early Father's Day to you all! I hope you have a good one! (Also, I'm aware Father's Day didn't exist as a holiday until the 1900's, but I just pretended it did for feels purposes. :3 I mean, the colonists could have created their own little holiday that was similar to it, right?)**

 **I hope you liked it, and until next time, see ya!**

 **~GoofieDaisy -^_^-**


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